


Name of the Game

by Anonymous



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25143778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Fred had kind of assumed that Sam would be totally new to this. He hadn’t really considered that sex had a lot of…transferable skills.
Relationships: Fred Patini/Sam
Comments: 9
Kudos: 147
Collections: Anonymous





	Name of the Game

Fred had kind of assumed that Sam would be totally new to this. He hadn’t really considered that sex had a lot of…transferable skills.

But it’s abundantly clear, whenever he traces his fingers over Fred’s abdomen; or kisses stripes down his neck; or whispers filthy things with innocent wide-eyedness, that Sam isn’t exactly an ingénue.

Fred’s starting to feel like maybe he’s the ingénue. Sam touches him differently, every time, and Fred can’t help but react like it’s his first time, every nerve fizzing with this indelible energy.

And whenever Fred sighs, or moans, or arches up into his hands, Sam parrots back what Fred said to him on their first meeting.

“You’re so _inappropriate._ ”

Fred’s not going to live that down. He’s not sure that he minds. But he would like the opportunity to say it back.

The opportunity never arises, because Sam bites down every shiver and moan, resting at the edge of control, and Fred is about ready to conduct his own Sam-based research project on exactly how to topple him over.

Until he figures it out accidentally.

Fred’s already shaky, and Sam’s been kissing crescents across his shoulders forever, fingertips orbiting his hipbones all the while, so when Sam finally pushes into him, Fred says his name, broken and wanting, without really meaning to.

It’s like Sam.exe just stops working for a second, and he can’t do anything except hide his face against Fred’s shoulder and clutch at his hip till it bruises.

Fred says Sam’s name a lot more often after that. Sam starts catching on, trying to cover up, never totally successfully. There’s always something. A sharp intake of breath. A sound, stifled. His hands, suddenly shaky, struggling with Fred’s fly.

Important research projects require extrapolation, and it was a pretty natural leap to assume that maybe Sam was fan of dirty talk. After all, Fred thinks about 85% of his conversations could qualify.

It’s not really something Fred’s into. Sam’s the one who’s good at ordering people around and pretending to be confident and talking about sex like it’s not a big deal.

Still. Maybe something in the general area? Something that doesn’t make him feel like he’s acting in bad porn. Something sincere.

He tries, one morning when he and Sam are slowly waking up to the filter of the sun through the blinds.

“I want you,” he says quietly. Not a demand, just an observation.

In seconds he’s flat on his back, Sam’s fingers raking down his torso.

“I want _you_.” Sam says, nipping at his shoulder. “ _God._ All the time.”

And Fred thinks that maybe all his hypotheses about control and restraint were dead wrong, and Sam’s stuck here with him in this sea of needing _._

“You’re so inappropriate,” Fred whispers up at him, and Sam laughs.

“You love it.”

Fred really does.


End file.
